


A Plum Miracle

by Roscommon



Category: Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Holidays, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roscommon/pseuds/Roscommon
Summary: A sweet little holiday one-shot inspired by my husband’s coworkers’ delicious surprise holiday gift, which they left on our doorstep last week.  Cross-posted on fanfiction dot net.
Relationships: Ricardo Carlos Manoso/Stephanie Plum
Kudos: 7





	A Plum Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine my surprise to find a large box of a dozen, holiday-themed Krispy Kreme donuts on our porch the other evening. (If, like me, you never knew that these existed, look up “Krispy Kreme holiday donuts” on the web; they are amazing creations of the donut-maker’s art.) 
> 
> Of course, I immediately imagined how Stephanie would receive them. 
> 
> With thanks to my husband’s coworkers, this is a one-shot that’s not related to any other stories I’ve written. As always, the Stephanie Plum characters aren’t mine, all trademarks belong to their respective owners, and I make no profit. This story, though, is all mine. It’s not beta’ed and was written quickly under the influence of practically magical holiday donuts, so please excuse any errors.

**A Plum Miracle**

“Holy Moley!” Stephanie exclaimed as she rounded the corner from her kitchen into a puff of gingerbread, nutmeg, and… sprinkles of melting snowflakes? Blinking, she saw a man had materialized in her livingroom. Tall, disheveled, with a blond ponytail falling from under a goofy Santa hat, he was a figure she recognized immediately. 

“Diesel, what are you doing here?” She peeked around him, side to side. “Wait, where’s Carl?”

“You missed my monkey love?” he grinned.

“Oh, eeew. No. I just think maybe I like Carl better than I like you.” 

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. 

“Well, since you’re here, make yourself at home. I was just getting ready for an extended day of doing nothing at my kitchen table.” She waved him to the table while she spoke. She knew from experience that she was now hosting Diesel for as long as he decided to remain. And that it might take a while to figure out why his path had suddenly intersected with hers. So, she might as well keep doing what she was doing. 

And with that thought, she darted back in her kitchen to retrieve her freshly made mug of Swiss Miss. With a shrug, she poured a second packet into a mug and filled it with hot water for Diesel. Returning to the table, she saw Diesel had taken her at her word. His beat-up leather jacket was draped over the back of his chair and he was helping himself to a sugar cookie from the ample bakery box on the table.

He took a bite and then waved the nibbled cookie in the air. “These are my favorite,” he enthused. 

“That’s my Christmas gift from Connie at the bonds office,” she acknowledged, setting down the two cups of hot chocolate. “And here’s my gift to you,” she shoved the second mug toward him. 

“Sugar, you’re so good to me.”

“Mmm hmm,” she murmured through her sip of cocoa, noting that “Sugar” might refer to her. Or possibly it referred to the cocoa and cookies he was now enjoying. Taking another sip of instant chocolaty goodness, she decided that either meaning worked just fine.

“So anyhow,” she ventured after putting down her mug. “What’s up? Why the unexpected Santa visit?”

He mouthed the word “Santa.” blinking quickly. “It’s the hat, isn’t it?” he asked, reaching up to remove his fuzzy red stocking cap with its cotton pompom. 

“Well, yeah,” she answered mid cookie. “And also because it’s a couple of days before Christmas here in the real world, and you just popped in wearing that hat.”

“All good points,” Diesel conceded while setting his hat on the table. “I can’t pull anything over on you, sweetheart.” He snared another cookie from the box. “The thing is, though, while it’s great to see you, I’m not actually sure why I’m here.” His deep-set, dark eyes got a pensive glimmer. “When I’m on the job, as it were, I usually get popped to where I need to be. But I just finished a job so usually I’d get popped back where I started. Which wasn’t here.” 

“Maybe your job wasn’t quite finished after all,” she mused. “What were you working on? Maybe I can help you figure it out.” 

Seeing the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes— a look that was never far away, to be honest— he took a deep breath. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to tell you now that it’s all wrapped up.” He snorted, eyebrows wrangling. “See what I did there? Wrapped up? Christmas? Ho ho ho!” 

She snorted. “You’re a riot, Alice,” she retorted, having spent yesterday evening listening to a _Honeymooners_ marathon at her parents’ house while helping to wrap gifts. “It’s a long story,” she said in response to the quizzical look on Diesel’s face. “But go on,” she urged.

He nodded. “Well you see, I just finished a job at the North Pole.” He glanced away, then back her way. “It involves elves.” 

“Little people,” she corrected automatically, visions of Randy Briggs dancing in her memory. Then, frowning, she said, “If any of those elves followed you here, you’re toast. You were there last time: I never want to be attacked by elves again.” 

“No stowaway elves. No Carl on my shoulder. Just me.” Diesel leveled his handsome, rogue smile her way, with dimples and everything. She swore to herself that she was becoming immune to its charm. 

“So, do you want to hear the rest?” he asked, charm still sparkling like a candle flame just behind his smile and eyes. 

Giving into nosiness— and temptation— she picked up one of the sugar cookies and said, “Yeah sure, tell me the tale.” 

He got a misty, faraway gleam in his eyes. 

“It all started with Elvin ‘Elf’ MacDougal, a _bona fide_ ‘little person’ as you said. He was a first-class holiday elf. He had the looks and the talent. Over the course of years, he worked his way up the ladder. He started as a mall elf, proved himself at special holiday events, and even got a couple gigs on regional TV commercials. Then finally MacDougal got the glory-tap on the shoulder to go ‘Up North’,” Diesel said with finger quotes. 

“Up north?” she interrupted.

“Up _North_ ,” he emphasized, eyebrows arched. “You know, to the Big Show, Elf-town, Santa’s Workshop.” 

“Uh,” she replied, squinting.

“So anyway,” Diesel barreled ahead before she could speak. “MacDougal’s special power was that he can tell what a person most desires. As you can imagine, that gave him a huge leg up on the Santa’s Elf career ladder. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d kept his efforts to divining the perfect toys for all good little girls and boys. But it’s like one of those Hollywood stories: it all went to his head as soon as he got to the big show. He started dealing with the wrong element: namely, the people whose deepest desire is for supernatural artifacts that absolutely shouldn’t be in their hands.” 

He shook his head as though decrying the failure of humanity as a whole. “When MacDougal started smuggling them through Santa’s workshop, the Big Guy became aware of it. And that’s when I got involved.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Come on Diesel, we did this one already. That was _Sandy_ Claus the toymaker. You need a new shtick.” She paused for a sip of her hot chocolate. “And besides, even though you tried to convince me that Santa Claus might live in New Jersey, I know that he doesn’t actually exist.”

“You’re really explaining that Santa Claus doesn’t exist to a man who just teleported into your apartment?”

“Okay, you have a point. But seriously? Santa?” 

“Seriously,” he emphasized with a nod. “Santa. I suspect that your guy, Sandy Claus, might’ve been one of the subcontractors Santa’s been setting up all over the world during the past decades. It’s hard to keep up with holiday volume. But the Santa I’m talking about is the real deal. A low-level Unmentionable; I could tell as soon as I met him. I think he’s the only one who can stretch time.” 

“Speaking of stretching time,” Stephanie interjected. “Is there a fast-forward here?” 

He laughed. And, geez, there were those dimples again. “I’m almost caught up,” he said, leaning back, his large frame completely obscuring the back of her chair. “I finally nabbed MacDougal where he was hiding out in the North Pole Workshop. And then we tracked down and quarantined all the contraband supernatural items. Less than an hour ago we were having a final sit-down at Santa’s desk, which is as messy as you’d imagine given all the lists and letters he gets. Honestly, I don’t know how he keeps all the names and gift requests straight.” 

He sat up with what, for Diesel, was an almost startled look. “Whoa, maybe Santa _doesn’t_ keep them all straight. That could explain the kids who complain that they didn’t get what they asked for. And it would track with some of the other shadier things I’ve heard about the old Santa-meister.” 

“Yeah, Santa definitely dropped the ball on the Wonder Woman bracelet and headband set I asked for in both second and third grades. The closest was the butterfly headband and matching purselet I got the second time. It was a nice try but definitely missed the mark on both style and execution.”

“I wonder if the higher-ups know,” he mused, reaching for yet another cookie. As he took a bite, Stephanie surreptitiously reached out and nabbed the box, moving it to the empty chair next to her. Courtesy to guests was one thing. Donating her entire gift box of Christmas cookies to an already hyperactive, charming yet uninvited man-child was a whole different thing. 

Meanwhile, Diesel had resumed his story. “So, there we were, chatting about workshops, toys, elves, reindeer, and the ways Santa has diversified to handle the astronomical costs of the whole operation. That led to a rant about kids these days with no imagination whose lists are full of expensive things like PlayStations, iPads, and motorized skateboards.” 

He flung up his hands in a “go figure” gesture while Stephanie realized that her Christmas gift list could definitely benefit from a tune up. For example, she could easily add “PlayStation” to the list and cross off her perennial requests for Claire’s Jewelry, Shoe-o-rama, and Speedy Auto Repair gift certificates. She could join in those multiplayer internet games that Connie and Lula joined from their homes. Heck, she could even play online sports or “shoot-em-up” games remotely with some of the Rangemen and nobody, like Joe for example, would even know about it. 

Perking up at the thought, she tuned back into what Diesel was saying.

“So, it was starting to sound like Santa was thinking about completely canceling his midnight sleigh route this year. And then, the holly-jolly Missus came out and restored the holiday spirit with some gingerbread and a couple Santa-sized mugs of fully-loaded eggnog, bless her soul. It worked, of course, because that’s the special gift of Mrs. Claus.” He winked. 

“Of course it is,” Stephanie echoed in a wry tone. 

“See, you’re getting it. Anyhow, after more chit-chat, we were outside checking on the reindeer. Santa had started talking about all the ways he gets holiday gift requests, because they don’t all come by mail. Like sometimes they come from dreams and people making wishes to stars. And he had just started talking about what he does to fulfill those when, pop, here I am.” He extended his arms like a thermal-shirted celebrity ready to take a bow. 

“Hmm,” Stephanie pondered. “Do you think you missed an artifact that might have gotten to Trenton? Maybe one requested by one of those ‘wishes on a star’ that your elf friend intercepted and sent to Sandy?” She had a hard time believing she’d just said that, but it was a plausible sentence where Diesel was concerned. “Though I think Sandy might not be in Trenton anymore.” 

“Not a bad idea,” he frowned. “However, since I know the guy, I would’ve expected to be popped directly to wherever he is. Unless I need your help to find him.” His voice trailed off in thought. Then he looked up and hooked her gaze. “Have you had any interesting skips recently?” His eyebrows woggled. “Any unexpected, spooky holiday gifts?” 

“I’m assuming that _you_ don’t count as an unexpected, spooky gift, right?” 

He laughed, then glanced toward her bedroom. “Just say the word and the answer can be ‘yes’.” 

“For now, let’s go with ‘no’ instead,” she parried. Looking around the room, she said, “I won’t get most of my Christmas gifts until Christmas in a couple days, since they’ll be from my family. Other than that, Mary Lou gave me a certificate for a spa day and Lula gave me that scented candle.” She pointed it out. Oh, and we snacked on the most magical of my Christmas gifts: Connie’s cookies from Italian Peoples’ Bakery.” 

“The cookies were great, but not supernaturally so.” he shrugged. “Let me look more closely at that candle.” 

Diesel stood and walked over to her bureau to more closely inspect the candle while Stephanie also stood. gathering the now empty hot chocolate mugs. Seeing a yet-to-deposit check from Plum Bonds on the mess of papers on the unused half of her kitchen table, she paused. “Oh, I remembered the other half of your question,” she said, looking up to see him inhaling deeply from her unlit candle. 

“Cinnamon,” he drew out the word as though in a minor fugue of ecstasy. 

“Um, you can have that candle if you want. I know where Lula bought it.” 

“No,” he put it down reluctantly with a pat of his hand, as though parting from a small, scented pet. “I know where I can come visit it, if I want.” He inhaled deeply once more before returning to the kitchen table. “So, the other half of my question?”

“Oh yeah.” she answered, shifting the empty mugs in her hands. “I don’t have any skips at the moment who might have one of your artifacts. But I’ll call Vinnie in case some burglar or thief just skipped bail and is about to come my way.” 

“Good idea, sweet cakes,” he agreed. “Maybe later we could visit your Grandma. She might not have any ideas about what I’m looking for, but she’s a lot of fun.”

Stephanie snorted on her way to the kitchen. And then, after placing a call and talking briefly to Connie, she came back out to find Diesel shuffling through the papers on her table.

“There aren’t any skips coming up for me.” She put her hands on her hips. “And what the heck are you doing?”

“Just looking for hidden clues on why I was popped here” He waved her Plum Bonds check in the air. “I could send someone to visit your cousin; he doesn’t pay you nearly enough.” 

“Ranger says that, too,” she mumbled under her breath, though the quick glance from Diesel clued her into the fact that he probably heard her. “Let me think about it,” she stalled. His offer was tempting. At the same time, there were so many ways it could go wrong, many of which might end up with her losing her job. 

“What’s this?” He interrupted her thoughts by picking up a glossy, fold-out holiday mailer for Krispy Kreme. Pictures of donuts, specialty donut boxes, holiday-only donuts… yeah, it was basically dessert porn. 

“It’s an advertisement. Their nearest store is maybe a forty-five minutes’ drive away, so I went one evening last week to get a box of the holiday collection— sort of my Christmas gift for myself— but they were sold out. I did manage to snare a Reindeer-with-pretzels donut and a Santa Belly donut.” 

Diesel blinked and then darted a startled glance at the post-it marked page showing the holiday decorated collection. “Wow, they’re really... colorful,” he said. “It’s amazing that they captured the Santa-meister’s seasonal clothing groove with just a round red donut and a chocolate belt.” 

“A _jolly_ red donut” she corrected him. Chuckling, she added, “I was going to save them for Christmas Eve morning, but I ate them on the drive back. The next couple of days they’ll be banged out, so I’m thinking of going next week. I won’t be able to get the holiday donuts, though.” 

“These do look a bit magical. I wonder if I should visit this Krispy Kreme place. Maybe that’s why I popped-in here.” 

“We could drive later to the one I go to, if you want. Maybe take Grandma. But they have stores across the whole country and I’m not driving to all Krispy Kremes in the state, let alone the country.” 

“Hmm,” His lips twisted in disappointment. “That’s probably not what I’m looking for, then. But maybe we could drive there anyway.” He resumed shuffling through the envelopes on her table. “Oh, this looks interesting,” he announced while waving a colorful envelope with the word “Cupcake” written on it in big letters. “It’s another dessert.” 

She took a deep breath. “Not really. That’s my nickname. And I forgot that it’s another Christmas gift.” Seeing his eyebrows raised in an obvious question, she added, “It’s tickets for a long weekend trip to Atlantic City over New Years with my on-again, off-again boyfriend, Joe.” 

“The Cop?” He paused, his brows knitted while he watched her sit back down. 

“Yup.” She popped the “p.” 

“You don’t sound too thrilled,” he peeked inside the envelope while talking, and then returned his gaze to her.

“It’s complicated,” she said while her fingers straightened the stack of bills and sale flyers that was nearest to her. 

“You still trying to balance your two boy-toys?” 

“Neither Joe or Ranger is a _boy-toy_ ,” she countered, unsure how to interpret the watchful expression on Diesel’s face. After a pause, she admitted, “But, there’s no balance, anyway. I’ve finally realized that Ranger mostly finds me _fun_ , but he doesn’t want anything more than that. Which is okay,” she hastened to add in response to Diesel’s raised eyebrows. “It’s okay, and we can still be friends. But I guess I decided I wanted more. And I’m not going to get it.” 

“You sure about that?”

“Do you see a Christmas gift from him, here?” She retorted. Then, with a deep breath, admitted, “Yeah, even I know that’s not fair. Ranger gives me work when I need money and cars when I don’t have one. I can spend the night or even stay in his apartment.” 

She paused, nibbling at her lip while she tried to put her thoughts into words. Finally, she said, “I’m just tired of thinking of him all the time while knowing he just sees me as a ‘friend with benefits’ but not a girlfriend.” She waved vaguely at the envelope that was still in Diesel’s fingers. “If you think of someone as a girlfriend, you give her an actual nickname, not just ‘Babe’ like you’d call a waitress or salesperson. Or maybe you use it for all your side-chicks, because you have so many of them and, if you use the same nickname you don’t have to worry if you forget each one’s actual name in the moment.” 

“Ah,” his eyes darted between her and Joe’s envelope. “So, ‘Cupcake’ is a nickname, but ‘Babe’ isn’t?” 

“Exactly! Even though I’ll admit that ‘Cupcake’ is kinda dumb as a nickname, it means something. And Joe doesn’t call anyone else that, only me. On the other hand, Ranger called me ‘Babe’ before we were even friends. It’s like how my Grandpa Mazur called all the waitresses ‘Toots’.” 

Diesel snorted, mouthing the word “Toots” as though he was thinking of adding it to his vocabulary of casual endearments.

She looked down. “But it’s not really about nicknames or Christmas presents. I’ve just finally realized that, if I want someone who really wants to be with me, I should settle down with Joe. Even if he’d rather I didn’t do bounty hunting, and doesn’t quite ‘get’ that I’m not ready to go to Atlantic City. He’s at least trying, you know?”

“I would’ve thought you’d like Atlantic City,” Diesel said, putting down Joe’s envelope.

“In general, sure. Flashy lights, shopping, stage shows, drinks with little umbrellas… what’s not to like? But in this case, I think it’s not really a trip just for fun and silly drinks.” She pursed her lips. “Joe’s cousin Julie Morelli’s husband proposed to her in Atlantic City. Since then, Joe has told me multiple times that it was the perfect way to do it.” She tilted her head, gazing at Joe’s careful cop’s handwriting. “Maybe he’s right since they’re still married unlike his other cousins.”

“You want to be married?” He’d picked up the Krispy Kreme flyer again, preparing to continue riffling through the remaining envelopes under it. 

“Not especially. Been there, done that. I just want to be in a relationship I can rely on.” Half whispering, she finished up by saying, “I want to be special.” She knew that saying it aloud would make it sound pathetic, even though it was true. And, what was also true was that, as she said that, she pictured Ranger’s face, his smile. Not Joe’s. 

If she were being totally honest, she wished that Joe’s envelope had come from Ranger. Actually, she didn’t need Atlantic City from Ranger; she just wished she had some assurance that they were headed toward a “someday” together. She’d accept any gift from him, even something as simple as the box of donuts pictured in Diesel’s hand. 

She exhaled, leaving that unproductive thought behind. “I just don’t think I have any mystical artifacts here. So, why don’t we drive over and pick up Grandma Mazur. Probably there’s a viewing she wants to attend. Who knows what you’ll find there?” 

“Sounds good,” Diesel agreed. And then— poof— he was gone. Along with his well-worn leather jacket, which apparently traveled with him even if he wasn’t wearing it at the time. And, well drat, he’d also taken her Krispy Kreme flyer along with all of its coupons. 

Well, at least he’d left behind his Santa hat. Oh, and Joe’s envelope. 

**—ooOOoo—**

Ranger put up his tray table after the flight steward collected the trash from his meal. Then he checked the travel details on the console in front of him. A little over forty-five minutes until they landed and he was back home in Trenton. He pushed up the window shade next to him, but of course it was still filled with clouds laced by brittle cold air. 

Even views of the impassive grandness of clouds girdling the Earth was becoming old hat. If he believed in New Year’s resolutions, the first one on his list would be to start delegating Rangeman out-of-state business to Bobby, Tank, or Les. There was no reason, anymore, why he needed to be the one doing all the remote, in-person work, whether it was business related or a contracted mission. He trusted everyone on his core team for a reason. 

Well, maybe delegating travel would be second on his resolutions list, after figuring out what relationship he actually wanted to have with Stephanie Plum. It had finally dawned on him that his habit of travel and generally not-being-around was part of how he kept his distance from her. How he kept her on the hook, guessing, and looking forward to his appearances. 

It was an old habit from the playbook of a committed bachelor, which wasn’t aligned with the closeness he’d begun to feel for her. Or conducive to the relationship he was starting to realize that he truly wanted to explore. Now might be the right time, since she was apparently on another break from the Cop. At least, she’d moved back to her apartment again, where her only male companion was the rat. _His name is Rex_ , he smirked, imagining the righteous correction in her voice. 

His musings were interrupted by a sudden motion in his periphery, followed by a loud “Whoa” exclaimed from the formerly empty aisle seat. Shifting, ready to take down whatever threat had imposed in his space, he took a closer look at his unexpected companion.

“Diesel,” he intoned with a baleful squint of his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Dude, you tell me,” the slightly rumpled, ponytailed man blinked, a colorful brochure clutched in his far hand. “This is a first. I’ve never been popped into a moving airplane before. It’s a woozy feeling. Not exactly what I’d imagined the ‘Mile High Club’ meant.”

“Too bad they don’t let me shoot people on planes anymore,” Ranger scowled. 

“Oh, stop with the macho posturing,” Diesel harrumphed. “They’ve never let you shoot people on planes. The decompression from bullet holes at this altitude would be a doozy.” Seeing Ranger’s skeptical eyebrow, he added, “Hey, I might spend my time on the supernatural side of things, but I do read _Popular Science_.”

“Good for you. So, you popped in. Now you can pop out. And, if you brought any monkeys, take them with you if you ever want to see them again.” 

“No monkeys this time. And, it doesn’t work that way. I get _sent_ places. It’s not like _Bewitched_ where I get to wriggle my nose and decide where to go next.” He glanced at the Krispy Kreme brochure in his hand and then his face took on something like a thoughtful expression. Shifting in his seat to better face Ranger, he mused, “But I’m starting to understand why I’m being popped around today.” 

“Imagine my joy.” 

“Strangely, that’s difficult for me to do,” Diesel retorted, wondering what Stephanie saw in this muscle-bound lug. As far as he could tell, the Cop had Ranger beat on basic gregariousness. And, Diesel was happy to admit that he, himself, was at least as handsome and within the same gamut of tall, broad masculinity as both men. Not to mention that he was far more charming than either of them. 

Nevertheless, sensing the outline of his mission, he leveraged Ranger’s comment to say, “But I’m sure Stephanie Plum is someone who could easily imagine your joy. And would want to. But right now, at this very moment, she’s imagining that you’re not at all interested in her.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Normally it wouldn’t be. But today is special, I guess. A little mission I apparently got assigned while visiting with Santa in the North Pole.” 

“You’ve obviously been drinking,” Ranger scoffed.

“Well that’s true. Mrs. Claus’ Eggnog and Stephanie’s hot chocolate. Maybe you should offer me a drink, since that seems to be the trajectory of the day. So, anyhow, I just left Stephanie’s apartment.” 

At Ranger’s glare, he tossed up his hands in a generic surrender. “Like I said, I get popped wherever I’m supposed to go. I don’t get to decide. But the point is: she was talking about how you don’t seem to want her, so maybe she should settle for the other guy. Maybe it’s time to ‘bust a move’ dude. That is, if you’re actually interested.” 

As he spoke, one of the flight attendants returned to their row and handed a bottle of sparkling water to Ranger and gave Diesel a cup of ice with an opened can of ginger ale. She then passed each of them a packet of Lorna Doone cookies. 

“Thanks,” Diesel smiled with an extra generous gift of his dimples. “Lorna Doones are my favorites.”

“It’s the simple pleasures in life, right?” the attendant smiled in return. 

“So true,” he replied before turning his attention to his delightful little snack. “See?” He glanced at Ranger. “I’m being welcomed by sugary drinks and treats, today, wherever I go.” 

“Maybe you could go find your welcome in a different row of seats.”

“No can do,” Diesel replied with a sigh. “I’m sure that whatever or whoever sent me here has updated the records to show that I’m a passenger assigned to this seat. But more importantly, right after I was popped into, and then out of Stephanie’s apartment, I was popped here with you. The way I see it, I’m here to give you a last chance. A holiday miracle, if you will.” He raised his final, partly nibbled Lorna Doone in the air as though conveying a blessing with it. 

“Fine,” Ranger huffed, slapping his own packet of cookies onto Diesel’s now-lowered seat tray. “I’ll play along. But my plans with Stephanie are off limits. Besides, I’m ready to make my move and don’t need your help with that.” 

“Excellent. Just don’t take her to Atlantic City unless you’re planning to propose to her.” Diesel ripped open Ranger’s packet of cookies and continued munching. “Apparently that’s a signal. Or a trigger. I haven’t figured out which one, yet.” 

“Atlantic City isn’t my style,” Ranger replied archly. “My plan is to take her to Rossini’s for a nice early, intimate dinner on New Year’s Eve, then to the Rangeman party that’s at the Five Diamonds banquet hall this year. After that, a magical night together and the whole next day.” He paused, adding with a growl, “And I can’t believe I just said all of that to you.” 

Diesel was amused to see dismay and indignation flash in the other man’s eyes. He was used to that; people regularly disclosed otherwise hidden thoughts to him. “Just as well you did tell me,” he said after a sip of ginger ale. “Because by New Year’s Eve you might be too late. The Cop seems to be planning to make his move that same weekend. If you want to succeed, you need to ‘up’ your Christmas game.”

“What, with Christmas donuts?” Ranger pointed with his chin at Stephanie’s flyer, which Diesel had put on the hand rest while he ate. 

“Huh,” Diesel murmured. “Well now,” he said, picking the flyer back up. “Now that you mention it,” he said, when— _poof_ — he was gone from the airplane. 

“What the….” Ranger muttered. He’d normally assume that the airplane food had included hallucinogens, except for the presence of the downed seat tray with cookie wrappers and ginger ale. Along with the faint scent of holiday spices wafting in the airplane’s pressurized air. 

And, yes, the not-so-subtly planted idea that he needed to mobilize quickly to arrange something special for Stephanie by Christmas, just a few days hence. Well, he could certainly do that.

**—ooOOoo—**

“Diesel,” Lizzie Tucker looked over from the large stove in Dazzle Pastry’s kitchen, where she was mid-way through her shift. “It’s a surprise to see you. And, wow, you’re sitting down. You never arrive in a chair. What’s going on?” 

“I finally know the last piece of my mission!” 

“Awesome,” she replied, setting a tray of colorful, just baked holiday cupcakes on the counter. “Of course, I don’t know anything about your mission. Do I need to keep an eye out for any particular supernatural shenanigans or thing-a-mabobs? Or for your evil counterpart, Wulf?” 

“No, this time I think it’s simple. I just need a baking favor.” 

“Well I’m busy, but okay. You need some special cupcakes?” 

“No. Can you cook donuts?” 

“Donuts? Well… probably. But it’s not my specialty. Why donuts?”

“It’s for a Christmas wish.” He handed the now-crumpled Krispy Kreme flyer to her. “Can you make them look something like this?” 

“Yeah, but the Krispy Kreme store a few miles away can make them look _exactly_ like this. Are you just being cheap?” 

“No. I know I could buy those. But, see, I need a dozen special donuts, made with all your baking magic.”

“Um, okay. Why do you need them? 

“Remember Stephanie Plum?” He waited for her nod, then continued. “I think she made a Christmas wish to have donuts like these delivered by a particular man, and I’m apparently the go-between.” Eyebrows arched, she made a “continue” gesture with her hand. 

“It’s like this: first I was with Santa Clause— you know, the big red-suited guy— discussing how he handles gift requests that come from unmailed wishes. Then, I’m with Stephanie Plum hearing about the men in her life and how she wishes she was with that guy, Ranger. Right after that I’m in an airplane with Ranger talking about donuts. And now I’m here, with a baker. It makes so much sense.” 

“It really doesn’t make any sense,” Lizzy smirked. “But I’m used to that by now. So, when do you need these donuts?”

“Can you start cooking them now?” Diesel gazed at her with his most charming puppy-dog eyes.

“Right now,” she laughed. “Why am I not surprised? But sure, why not?” Lizzie headed to a cabinet to pull out supplies. “And look, we even have a set of donut pans that I don’t remember seeing before. Where on Earth did those come from.” 

“It’s a Christmas donut miracle,” Diesel replied. 

**—ooOOoo—**

Perhaps an hour later, Diesel found himself standing with an oversized pastry box in the livingroom of a high-end apartment. “Well, someone certainly likes chrome and leather,” he mumbled as he carefully set the box down on the kitchen counter. The clear window in the top of the Dazzle Pastry box revealed a full dozen of colorful, handcrafted donuts made with his friend Lizzie’s special touch. 

He looked around and, in short order, found the stub of a plane ticket for Mr. Ricardo C. Manoso. He grinned. He’d totally guessed this one correctly. Even better, he now knew Ranger’s actual name if he wanted to annoy the man in the future. It was a total win. 

For now, though, he was on a mission. While the sound of a shower emanated from deep within the apartment, Diesel hunted around until he found a piece of paper and a pen. “For Stephanie Plum,” he printed carefully. “You know what to do.”

He propped the note on the box and stepped back to view his handiwork. Yup, he smiled in victory. There was no way even someone as bullheaded as Mr. Ricardo C. Manoso could miss this.

With that, he snuck out of the man’s apartment, closing the door behind him before jogging down the seven flights of stairs. With his special abilities, he knew he wouldn’t be detected. Or if he was, he’d be an unexplainable, descending shadow on monitors. Or perhaps a muffled set of heartbeat taps in lieu of footsteps. 

Outside, he smiled. Mission accomplished. He closed up his leather jacket and started walking in the cold Trenton air, trusting his feet to take him where he needed to be. Or, knowing that a helpful telepathic _pop_ would take him on his way. Enjoying the late afternoon weather, he walked for a while, nodding to people he passed. After a bit, he left the downtown business district where Ranger’s building stood and found himself in a small urban shopping district. Leaving that behind, he strolled down residential streets until he found himself at a building he recognized. 

And yup, it was Stephanie Plum’s apartment building. On a whim, he went into the lobby, bypassing the locks as he had always been able to do. He went up the stairs and found himself walking down the hallway outside of her apartment door. Hearing another set of probably masculine footsteps coming up the stairs, he backed into a darkened corner at the other end of the hall.

He was unsurprised to see Ranger, as Stephanie called him, emerge from the stairway door. He walked with the smooth, proud steps of a man who knew his worth. He carried the pastry box of holiday donuts like one of the Magi bearing treasure in his hands. 

Finally, at Stephanie’s door, he rang the bell. Moments later, a flustered Stephanie opened her door. 

“Ranger,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were back,” she smiled, and even Diesel in his hidden corner could see the joy lighting her face. “It’s great to see you,” she said, beaming at him. 

“I missed you, Steph,” Ranger said. “The whole time I was away, I wanted to be here with you. To change Rangeman work assignments so I could be here with you even more.” He looked down, and then held out the pastry box. “These are for you.” 

Diesel shook his head from his hidden corner. For a renowned, multi-talented operative, the man clearly could benefit from watching some rom-coms to pick up some smooth moves with the ladies. That said, he apparently was already with the lady who wanted him. 

“Ranger, these are amazing. Even better than Krispy Kreme. You always know what I want,” her breathy, happy voice practically purred. “Come in,” she said.

“Happy to,” he said. “I plan to stay for a while if you don’t mind. I arranged for carry out from Rossini’s to be delivered a bit later. Then we could take it from there.” 

He didn’t quite catch what Stephanie said in reply. The smile on her face as she closed the door was enough of an answer for Diesel to know that he truly had completed his mission with success.

A few moments later, when the elevator door opened, Mrs. Bestler thought for sure she saw a slightly scuffed up male figure lingering in a darkened corner of the second-floor hallway. And then, with a puff of almost imperceptible holiday-spiced air, he was gone. 

**—ooOOoo—**

Diesel blinked and was in Lizzie’s apartment. Lights from moored boats in Marblehead Harbor swayed under the evening sky out her window. 

“I’m back,” he announced. “And visions of sugarplums danced in their eyes,” he said with a wink as Lizzie appeared in her bedroom doorway, dressed in comfy sweats.

“Wow, that was fast. Usually you take days between hops,” she said, resuming her path toward her fridge. She pulled out a couple bottles of sparkling cranberry cosmos and handed him one. “It’s non-alcoholic, which I know doesn’t matter to you, but will help me stay awake until bedtime.” 

He twisted off the top of his bottle and took a sip. “Hey, this is good. It’s probably a good thing there’s no booze in it. I’m getting dizzy with all this popping in and out. I’m hoping I get to stay here for a while.” He smiled hopefully at her. 

“You’re always dizzy,” she snarked. “But you’re also welcome to stay.” She led them to the sofa. “But Diesel, I don’t understand why you needed me to make donuts for your friend Stephanie. I could’ve just made cupcakes, as usual. It’s my very best thing.” 

“It’s a long story. But cupcakes would never do. That was always the wrong type of magic for Stephanie Plum.” 

“I never knew you were such a romantic.” 

“Ah sweetheart.” he said while giving her ponytail a playful tug. “I’m Mister Romance.” She rolled her eyes as he continued. “Actually, I think that Santa Claus just caught a Christmas wish from one or both of them and sent me to accomplish it. Or maybe the Unmentionable forces of good just got tired of them being idiots. Good thing I was there, all set to be Santa’s helper for his, ahem, _Very Special Christmas Miracle_.” He waggled his eyebrows at his impromptu title for the day. 

“A Christmas miracle, indeed,” Lizzie laughed along with him. Outside, the mantle of night began to darken the sky. A prick of light from the first of the evening’s stars popped into the sky and twinkled outside of Lizzie’s window, waiting for its own special wish to be made.  


_\- The end -_


End file.
